


get along pillow

by esmeraldablazingsky



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Sewing, and other characters but they are very minor, arda's worst family shenanigans, family reunion in Aman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 20:28:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19180804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esmeraldablazingsky/pseuds/esmeraldablazingsky
Summary: Maedhros teaches his baby cousin how to sew. Somehow, they get along. Curufin's not going to like this...





	get along pillow

Now that almost everyone had been reembodied, the House of Finwë had small reunions every so often, to talk and relax a little and maybe mend rifts between those who had not been fond of each other in the past. 

Nobody was required to attend, so it was more often than not only the more sociable family members, but they tried. 

Today, Maedhros showed up, because he didn’t particularly feel like being a hermit just then. To his surprise, the countryside cottage that was to be the site of today’s afternoon get-along time (as Fingon tended to call it) was almost empty. He tried not to be uneasy about it. Apparently everyone else had been delayed somehow.

Well, everyone except for one small and relatively unfamiliar relation, who was sitting on an armchair by the window. One of Arafinwë’s, if the hair was any indicator. Or— Maedhros ran through the extensive mental catalogue of his family members. Not technically one of Arafinwë’s children, then, but one of his house. Couldn’t be Celebrían, could it? No, her hair was more silver, like Ar— or Galadriel’s Sinda spouse. 

She noticed him standing just outside the door and waved. The precise movement made something click in Maedhros’ memory. Princess of Nargothrond. Orodreth’s daughter, Angrod’s granddaughter, yes, her birth had been quite a celebration, but what in the world was her name, again? 

“Hello, Uncle Maedhros,” she said, quite cordially. 

“Hello, Finduilas.” Maedhros would have thanked something or someone that he had remembered her name just in time, but really, he was done thinking that there was any sort of divinity in the world that deserved to be thanked. He settled for thanking pure chance that he’d been left with the relatively benign Finduilas and not, say…

Well, a lot of people. Turgon would have been unfortunate. Elwing, if she decided to come down from her tower, would have been even more so. The sons of Fëanor had, as the Edain said, had quite a bit of beef during their time in Arda. 

“I don’t suppose you know where everyone else is,” said Finduilas as Maedhros took a seat on the couch across from her. 

“Haven’t the slightest clue,” said Maedhros. 

“Right,” said Finduilas. She got up and crossed the room to look out the window, at which her face took on an expression of controlled disappointment and she sat back down, legs folded neatly underneath her. 

Oddly enough, what slight movements she had made seemed to be specifically tailored to the presence of a one-handed escapee of Angband. He had two hands now, and less scars, so it had to be a manner she knew from before and not one she had constructed with him in mind. Maedhros filed this information away for later. Surely there couldn’t be _too_ many elves in that particular category, right?

Right now, Finduilas was nervous. Maedhros didn’t delude himself enough to wonder why that might be so. He already knew from prior experience. She was shorter than him, and so was probably mildly intimidated at least; she was of Arafinwë’s house, and probably had not grown up with a favorable impression of him; and finally, Maedhros got the distinct impression that she was trying to read him, to figure out what she could possibly do to make him like her. 

She was just that kind of person, he could already tell. Unfortunately for her, Maedhros had quite the poker face. 

“Rather uncharitable of the rest of our family to leave us here with only each other’s company,” he commented, breaking the silence. “At least uncharitable to you. They know I’m terrible with children.” 

He didn’t add that he had been quite good with them, once. Now he just tended to scare people. 

“I’m not a child,” said Finduilas mildly. Maedhros could see that she had caught the dry humor in his voice and had relaxed accordingly. He shrugged one shoulder.

“You are to me.” 

“Right, and I suppose you’ll give me sweets now,” said Finduilas. Maedhros bared his teeth in what he hoped came across correctly as amusement. Of course it had, he thought when Finduilas shot him a flicker of a smile in return. One-handed escapees of Angband. She really was good at this. 

“I don’t have any,” he said. 

“Whatever shall we do,” deadpanned Finduilas. It was very, very Arafinwean, the way she side-eyed Maedhros past a curtain of unfairly golden hair. Thankfully, though, it was less a baleful glare and more a sly smile, which seemed to be two opposite ends of a range of emotions that that sideways glance could evoke. 

“I don’t know. What’s in the cabinets?” asked Maedhros. 

“Let’s see…” Finduilas bounced to her feet and circled the room, flicking wooden drawers open and closed with practiced ease. “Lots of thread, it seems. Fabric. More thread, and some needles… someone really wants us to sew, I should guess.” 

“Do you sew?” 

“Not really,” said Finduilas. A defiant flush rose to her cheeks as she thought about the question. “I never really needed to, I’m ashamed to admit. I’ve heard you’re quite good.” 

“Serviceable,” corrected Maedhros, but he was flattered anyway. 

Finduilas picked up a bolt of plain white fabric and ran her hands over the weave. 

“I doubt anyone’s using it,” said Maedhros. 

“And what would you suggest?” asked Finduilas. She was already toying with a small silver needle, the metal glinting in the light from the windows as it twirled between her fingers. 

“I would suggest,” said Maedhros, “that we start with pillows.” 

Finduilas gave a tiny twitch that suggested that she was going to toss the fabric to Maedhros before she apparently thought better of it and walked over to place the roll next to him instead. 

“I would have caught it,” said Maedhros. 

“I’m sure,” said Finduilas. Her eyes were haunted, but only for a fraction of a second before she flitted back across the room to pick up another needle, some thread, and a pair of scissors. “Pillows, hm?” 

“They’re easy,” said Maedhros. “Here.” Finduilas held up one end of the long roll of fabric so that he could get a clean cut. She watched his hands with fascination as the needle he was holding ducked in and out of the material. Maedhros guessed that she noticed the way he automatically positioned everything in such a way that his right hand was almost unnecessary. But she said nothing on the matter, and for the moment, neither did he. 

“Is there stuffing?” he asked. Finduilas’ eyes darted over the multiple blocks of cabinets before settling on a likely candidate. She opened it, and lo and behold, it was full of stuffing. 

“Good guess,” said Maedhros approvingly. 

“You get used to it, as a princess,” said Finduilas. Nonetheless, she glowed happily as she separated out what she deemed an appropriate amount of fluff and handed it over. 

Maedhros finished stitching. 

“That was very quick,” said Finduilas, her blue eyes sparkling. One of the girls was nicknamed Faelivrin, was that right? If it was her, Maedhros could see why. He handed her the small pillow and let her turn it over in her hands and inspect the edges. 

“And it’s lovely, too,” she said. “Very neat.” 

“You’re effusive with your praise,” observed Maedhros. 

“Do you take offense?” asked Finduilas. There was the slightest hint of a challenge in her voice, and Maedhros smiled inwardly. 

“No,” he said, “as long as it’s genuine.” And he could tell that it was, although according to Curufin and Celegorm, young Finduilas was not without guile. The thought made him laugh, all of a sudden. Finduilas looked up from the pillow to arch one eyebrow at him. 

“It’s nothing,” said Maedhros. “Here, cut yourself a piece.” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Finduilas, sounding slightly alarmed. “I’ve never really…” 

“Everyone starts somewhere. Listen—” he leaned forwards slightly, mostly for the effect. “If we put all this away before anyone else arrives, and maybe if we arrange for some more complicated lessons, nobody will have to know about the early stages. They’ll just know that you’re very, very good at sewing.” 

“You’d really do that?” asked Finduilas. 

“It’d be amusing to watch people’s reactions,” said Maedhros. “Especially Curufin.” That got Finduilas’ attention, as Maedhros had known it would. She picked up the scissors, and he gave another harsh-looking grin. Finduilas didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, she saw right past the strangely wolfish expression to the genuine emotion beneath. 

They were getting along very well. It was kind of nice, thought Maedhros. Very unexpected, but nice. 

Finduilas knew the basics of sewing, and she had steady hands. She was nowhere near as fast as Maedhros, but she was several thousand years younger and had had much less practice, so it was understandable. Her first pillow was perfectly fine, in any case. 

“I think I made a mistake here,” she said, tapping one finger at the place where she’d closed the last gap in the fabric. 

“Not necessarily a mistake,” said Maedhros. “Just a lack of practice. If you—” he cut himself off, and Finduilas jumped up to shove everything back into the cabinets. 

“It’ll have to wait,” said Maedhros. There were voices approaching outside. 

“Thank you,” whispered Finduilas just before the door opened and a face appeared. It was Fingon. He was covered in dirt and grinning apologetically. 

“Sorry we’re late,” said Fingon. Finduilas stared at him, then at Aredhel behind him, and everyone else bunched up outside. 

“What in the world happened?” she asked while Maedhros stifled a laugh. 

“Ah, well,” said Fingon. “Um—”

“Tyelko nearly ran us all over with a herd of deer,” broke in Aredhel. “It was a mess.” 

“Dogs, too,” said Finrod from somewhere in the back. “But it’s fine! We’re here now. Hope you two weren’t waiting too long.” 

“No,” said Finduilas, “I honestly don’t mind one bit.” 

“I couldn’t care less,” said Maedhros. 

“Great!” said Fingon. “Now, I suppose we should all sit down…” 

 

Finduilas invited Maedhros over to teach her more sewing not a week later. And again. And again. 

Maedhros discovered the reason Finduilas was so at ease with the indelible, if now invisible, scars left by Angband. His name was Gwindor, he was really quite likable, and Finduilas made him a quilt. He also got to apologize to Orodreth for his brothers’ conduct, although he then had to swear Orodreth to secrecy about the sewing thing. 

“I’m sure you’ll be fine with that,” said Maedhros. “Stick around long enough and maybe you’ll get to see Curvo’s jaw drop,” he added. 

“That sounds nice,” said Orodreth, a touch dreamily. “Carry on.” 

So he did. He taught Finduilas to make everything from functional banners to rather complex clothes items, and then he taught her to embroider, although she soon surpassed him in that regard. It was all the tiny little details, thought Maedhros. And she was very good at flowers. 

“I made you something,” said Finduilas one afternoon. 

“You did?” asked Maedhros, genuinely taken by surprise. 

“Yes,” said Finduilas, “as a thank-you for teaching me. I wanted to make something more interesting, but I would have had to take a whole lot of measurements, and I wanted it to be a surprise, so—”

“Finduilas,” said Maedhros, interrupting her rambling, “I’m sure it’s wonderful.” She grinned sheepishly and pulled out a length of deep red fabric with gold embroidery around its hem. The swirling patterns were shot through with designs in other bright hues of thread, and the overall effect was somehow cheerful despite the underlying blood-red color. 

Maedhros swung the cape around his shoulders, the painstakingly decorated edges of the collar standing up almost to his jaw. 

“Do you like it?” asked Finduilas. Maedhros tried to say yes, yes, I love it, but nothing came out. But that was alright. From the look in her eyes, he knew Finduilas understood. 

 

Suffice it to say that Curufin’s reaction was _priceless._

**Author's Note:**

> yeehaw


End file.
